


Spiders

by EmSheshan



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Panic, Spiders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22665727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmSheshan/pseuds/EmSheshan
Summary: George can't stop seeing spiders
Relationships: George Harrison & Paul McCartney
Comments: 5
Kudos: 44





	Spiders

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot was inspired by a story my Dad told me. He once overdosed on Nyquil and began to hallucinate images of the ceiling being made of worms.

George doesn’t know when the spiders started, but he supposes they began to show up when they went on tour. He constantly feels their presence, their tiny little eyes watching his back. It makes the hairs on his neck stand on end and his fingertips tremble.

He sees the little arachnids crawl on the floors and walls and hears their chittering. Sometimes, they crawl up his arms, slowly inching their way up to George’s head. He always tries to squash them, throwing his hand against them with as much force as possible. Yet when he pulls his arm up, there’s no black smudge of the spider’s dead body. All he gets for his trouble is a red mark on his arm and a concerned stare from whoever's in the room.

He knew it was futile to hit the spiders when they kept crawling after being crushed and his arms bruised worse and worse. Yet the sensation was so ungodly unpleasant, he had to try. He couldn’t see them, but he could feel every individual leg creeping up his flesh like an array of needles. His bandmates kept giving him worried glances when the dark bruises of yellow and blue and purple and black grew more frequent.

George hated the spiders that haunted him. He had been taking medication to help him sleep, insomnia picking the worst time to rear its head. The first few cities, things were fine. But then the spiders started to crawl in the night and into his ear. Sometimes, it was impossible to sleep with their scurrying, so loud and cacophonous. All he could do was wench his eyes close and pray they stopped.

They rarely did.

He took more of the medication to counteract the damn bugs. It allowed him to finally be able to sleep, but it left him out of it for the day. He ended up waking later and later, and it kept getting harder to crawl out of bed.

And so, he layed in bed that afternoon, staring at the blank walls. Too tired to get up, even after an hour of consciousness.

The room was completely pristine, devoid of any creatures. A rare sight these days.

George was broken from his musings by a booming voice. “Room service!” John called. “Get yer arses over here!”

George saw how Paul and Ringo flocked towards John, enticed by the thought of food. It was a cheap platter flooded with small sandwiches, with two taken by John, one already half-eaten. Paul gave a quick “Thanks,” taking one for himself, as did Ringo. They were simple turkey and cheese, but filling enough. 

It took a few solid minutes for George to get up and eat, still sluggish. As he ate his sandwich, there was something off about it. There was something in it that was crunchy and dry. The lettuce must have been bad or something. Or maybe the bread stale… The others seemed to enjoy their lunch, John already going in for a third. Yet the texture of his sandwich was off. 

It wasn’t until he saw black specks on it that he began to grow concerned there was mold. He was putting it down when he screamed and flung it across the room. Those specks, they weren’t bits of mold. They had  _ legs  _ and were  _ crawling  _ in between the layers of meat and cheese.

“What the hell?” John asked with a mouthful of ham. But George didn’t answer as he had darted to the bathroom. He tried his damndest to spit out the arachnids as fast as possible. He could already feel them crawling down the back of his throat, burrowing inside him. 

He needed to get them out,  _ now. _

Paul had burst in right as George was about to jam a toothbrush into his throat to trigger his gag reflex.

“Geo, what’s going— ” he started, before realizing what George was about to do. He dashed forward and grabbed him by the hands, quickly leading George to the beds.

All the while, he stuttered and begged. “The spiders, they’re in me, I have to get them out, Paul, please, P-Paul— ” His words were mad ravings. 

“Come on, get some rest, okay? There’s no spiders, Geo, come on...” 

“I saw them, I ate some— They were in my mouth, and they went down— ”

“Hey— just calm down!”

As much as Paul tried, George’s breathing only grew more ragged.

“The spiders,” George said then glanced up. “They’re all over the ceiling,” he muttered, voice cracking.

He began to hyperventilate, moaning more and more, eyes bulging out at the sight above.

Yet when Paul looked up to see the ceiling, it was made of dry-wall and plaster. He glanced over to see George’s eyes were glazed over, taking in the monstrous sight of the roof of the room being coated in writhing arachnids. He had never seen so many at one, a disgustingly visceral sight. When he closed his eyes, he could see the spiders waiting for him under his eyelids, trying to get in though his irises.

There was a mass of the damn things clogging up his intestines, their microscopic legs poking the lining of his stomach. Millions of eyes gazed at him from the ceiling.

“They're everywhere— ”

"There's no spiders, Geo," he said, as George trembled against him. "The room's empty."

George burrowed further into Paul's touch. He found himself pressing his ear against Paul's chest, trying to use his heartbeat to drown out the clicking and chatting of the walls of bugs around him.

Paul whispered soothing words to George, trying not to worry about the implications of his freakout. Here he was, one full-grown man comforting another. George was whimpering, and the fact that he's hallucinating hordes of arachnids more than concerned Paul.

He saw Ringo peeking into the bedroom from the corner of his eye.

"It's okay," he mouthed silently, hoping that would reassure Ringo. He gave a hesitant nod before disappearing. Things weren't okay, but George didn't need to be swarmed by people right now.

"Please don't leave me," George said, voice quiet. "I'm scared."

Paul tried to be as calm as possible. This was George, bold, cocky George, who was currently on the verge of tears in Paul's arms. He had never seen his best friend like this, so vulnerable and afraid. 

"I won't leave you," Paul said as he hugged George to his chest. "I'll be here for you," he reassured, and ever so slowly, George's breathing calmed. It turned into the slow, even breaths of sleep.

Paul was about to leave when George whined yet again, probably trapped in some psychotic nightmare.

Paul’s consciousness wouldn't let him leave him like that, so he used his free hand to throw a blanket over the two of them, bundling up. 

John and Ringo would find the two huddled together hours later, and leave them in peace to rest.


End file.
